Who will sweep out the scattered leaves,
by Roann Mendriq
torn from the tired, trembling trees,
and clear the wind-blown dusty eaves,
"I will! " whispers the gentle breeze.
And who will wash the mud streaked street
and clean the clogged and dirty drains
that overflow wild, indiscreet,
"I will! " softly answers the rains.
Who will return the shells to shore,
now flung in far-off distant caves;
and gently place them as before,
"I will! " replies the wayward waves.
When storms of life call out your name,
Bow low, prepare, to share the blame.